


The Chosen Ones

by WhiskyNotTea



Series: Whisky's Other Outlander Tales [10]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: 4x07, Canon Compliant, Gen, missing moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskyNotTea/pseuds/WhiskyNotTea
Summary: Fiona’s thoughts as she walked back down Craigh na Dune to Roger’s Morris Minor, and left the empty stone circle.





	The Chosen Ones

Fiona didn’t hear the buzzing sound of the stones. She never had.

And yet, she could feel their magic - it was in every word of her grandma’s stories, in every move of her body as she danced around them on Beltane and Samhain, right before dawn.

Fiona had been close to the stones more than once, watching her grandma and the other women, all in their white dresses, ethereal and mystical, moving with a purpose that protected them from the morning chill that seeped into Fiona’s bones no matter how many layers of wool she was wearing.

They weren’t themselves, then. They were druids, worshipping the magic of nature.

Beltane. Celebrating Belenus, the ancient continental Celtic sun and healer God. They let the ‘bright fire’ run through them, then. They opened themselves to the God and Goddess of Youth, let them revive them, make them feel young again. And her grandma always looked younger when she took Fiona by the hand later, cheeks blushed and smile wide.

On Samhain, the day of remembrance and honouring of the dead, her granda had told her that the veil separating the worlds was thinner than ever. The humans, the Faerie and the dead came closer, waiting for Winter solstice, for the Wheel of the Year to turn once more and bring life and hope. When she was wee, she was afraid to look outside the window on Samhain, in case she’d find a ghost strolling by their yard.

“If ye keep quiet,” her grandma had told her when she was around ten years old, “Ye’ll hear a new-born child crying for its Mother’s breast, on Alban Arthan. Death is necessary for revival, mo ghraidh.” But she had slept in at the Reverend’s that night, and Roger had kept her up talking and she had never heard the child’s cry.

Roger. Her friend. Her childhood companion. The boy with the green eyes that teased her and played with her, that shared his treasures with her and ate her portion of cookies.

Roger, who had been sucked in by the stones in front of her very eyes.

Fiona knew that people had gone through the stones before, but she had never seen one…disappear.

One moment he was there, braw and real and then… nothing. She had blinked so hard, again and again, her ragged breaths loud, her hands trembling.

Roger had made it. He had gone back, to find her. To find his woman.

On Alban Hefin - The Summer Solstice. The time of greatest light, when the Solar God is crowned by the Goddess as the King of Summer. Fiona hoped the warm summer days would soften their hearts, would make them take back all the words, all the silence that lay between them. Would make their love emerge and shine, bright as day and more powerful than their different ideas and plans.

It was a long time after he’d gone when Fiona finally closed her eyes, let the cold air fill her lungs in a deep breath and started going down the hill. The wind was howling, hitting her face, ruffling her hair, and yet she would swear the moment Roger’s hands touched the stone everything had gone quiet, as if the world had stopped. As if the stones bent the time at their will and took him away - only him. Only a few. Their chosen ones.

The travelers.

Fiona murmured a prayer for them all to be safe and reached for Roger’s car keys inside her pocket, the metal cool between her fingers.

Would she ever see him again?

Would he find Brianna and bring her back?

Would they be safe in a world full of violence?

Who would ever imagine, Roger - their Roger - to be a traveler. To have a life full of adventures, so far away from the future he had planned for himself.

Fiona chuckled, comparing the Oxford professor to the 18th-century man. And then chuckled again, thinking of the faces he made once he had shaved his beard. How he looked at himself in the mirror as if he was a different person.

But he was still Roger. Selfless, kind, smart. He would make it, he would find her. If there was one person to love with his whole heart, to give everything he was and then some more, it was Roger.

And Brianna deserved it. They deserved each other, and some happiness - no matter the century.

And if they ever came back, Fiona would be there, her house and her heart open for them. If not, she’d search for their ghosts, strolling by her yard on Samhain.


End file.
